


The barmiest Minister

by melian225



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 18th Century, Challenge Entry, Community: HPFT, Gen, Minister of Magic, Ministry of Magic, Trolls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 14:30:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11060931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melian225/pseuds/melian225
Summary: The Minister of Magic has died unexpectedly, and Barnabas Oldridge has been asked to step into the void.Written for Flaming Quilltips' Minister of Magic Challenge on HPFT.





	The barmiest Minister

Barnabas Oldridge sighed, shook his head, and stood up.

“No, Lufkoz! Three steps to the right, not the left!”

Lufkoz looked bewildered, and Barnabas put a hand to his face. He should have known the troll wouldn’t know the difference between left and right! However, he might have followed the others, who were more or less doing the right thing.

Okay, perhaps it erred on the “less” side rather than the “more”. Orneuk was facing backwards, Ciftim had just walked into the side of the stage, and Elmike was sitting in the corner eating her tutu. Phozis and Frugaa had pulled limbs from the stage tree that was supposed to flourish behind them and were using them to club each other over the head. And Tukzet had somehow climbed the curtain (Barnabas hadn’t realised it was that strong) and was swaying ominously overhead.

“This _will_ work. This _will_ work,” he muttered to himself, almost as a mantra. If he said it often enough, it might come true.

His musings were interrupted by a door slamming, and he looked across the hall to see Dilys Derwent, Headmistress of Hogwarts, storming towards him. “Barnabas! Here you are!”

He stood up to his full height, which he knew was a good eighteen inches above Dilys’. “Yes, I’m here. Why? What’s up?”

Dilys was slightly out of breath as she reached him. “Eldritch Diggory is dead. We need a new Minister!”

Barnabas gaped at her. “Eldritch? Dead? Are you sure?”

“Just been at St Mungo’s myself,” she said tersely. “Dragon pox. Took him within two days.”

“He can’t be.” Barnabas shook his head in disbelief. “Eldritch? Really?”

“Really. So now there’s a vacancy.” She took a step back as she suddenly realised what was happening on the stage. “Uh … Barnabas? What in Merlin’s name are you doing?”

There was an almighty crash as the stage curtain finally gave way and landed, along with Tukzet the troll, on the stage, covering Lukfoz, Orneuk, Elmike, Phozis and Frugaa in the process. Only Ciftim, still at the side of the stage, and Otruko, who had climbed down from the stage and was licking the seats in the second row, escaped the carnage.

Barnabas stepped delicately away from the mess behind him. “Uh … ballet. It’s a French form of dance.”

“And are those … are those _trolls_???”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, yes, they are. I thought if I could instruct them in the delicacy and discipline of dance, they could be trainable in other ways.”

Dilys made a face that indicated exactly what she thought of that idea. “Well, forget about that for now. You’re needed in London.”

He stared at her. “London? Whatever for?”

She turned on him in astonishment. “Have you really not figured it out? You’re our Acting Minister!

****

Barnabas looked around the spacious office, the high windows that overruled any thought he might have had that he was actually underground, the people outside grovelling to him. He was still getting his head around the idea of being in charge of magical Britain. Sure, he may have been seen by some as  a logical choice due to his history of benevolence and philanthropy, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel intimidated by the prospect.

“You’ll be fine,” Dilys had told him before she’d Apparated back to Hogwarts. The sentiment was echoed by the various people around him, and his new assistant, a bright young witch called Gondoline, was happy to fill him in on just about any owl that crossed his desk. There was just a _lot_ of work involved, work which he would have been perfectly happy ignoring.

By the end of the first day he found himself regaling Gondoline with some of his troll exploits. “They’re not as stupid as people seem to think,” he said. “Forest trolls are quite deft at hiding and catching their prey, and they’re much quicker than you’d expect. Mountain trolls – well, sure, their skulls are a little thicker due to the amount of rocks and stones around, but it really is incredible how much they understand.”

Gondoline was an eager student and plied him with questions, which he was happy to answer. The problem was, people kept wanting him to deal with other things.

“Daisy Pennifold is complaining that her Quaffle patent is being infringed,” someone shouted across the room at him as he went to get a cup of tea. “How do you want to deal with it?”

“How are we going to regulate the production of Sneakoscopes?” someone else asked, sticking their head into his office as he was cleaning the inside of his ear. Really, the rudeness of some people, he thought. Just walking in like that with no knock or anything? No manners at all.

“Will there be a welcome home parade for Glanmore Peakes?” yet another wizard wanted to know when he ventured out of his office in search of the toilets on his second morning.

It was giving him a headache and he didn’t want to deal with any of it.

“Gondoline!” he called out on his return. “Cancel all my appointments. We’re going searching for trolls.”

She gaped at him, clearly surprised, but then composed herself. “Right, sir. For how long?”

He shrugged. “A day? A week? I don’t care, so long as it gets me out of this place.”

People left right and centre started firing questions and comments at him, but he closed his ears to the din and just smiled at his assistant. “Be ready in five minutes.”

They left the office in absolute chaos; apparently, no one knew what to do when the Minister just upped and left like that. Barnabas would have thought they would have had some experience of it – after all, Eldritch certainly hadn’t been working right up to when he died, and everyone knew Damocles Rowle had actually gone out Muggle hunting whenever he felt the need. So his staff were confused? So was he. At least he was doing something about it.

****

Gondoline was a keen student and a fast learner. The five days they had spent in the Welsh mountains were some of the most productive he had ever experienced – troll populations, far from diminishing, were expanding greatly; they had just learnt how to hide from humans better than before. And this complemented his thesis that they were intelligent beings that had long been underestimated by greater wizarding society.

Unfortunately, however, it was impossible to really escape from said society. Owls kept arriving, several each hour, wanting his advice as Minister on what to do about this issue or that. Barnabas ignored them all. Frankly, he didn’t really care.

“You know, you _are_ Minister,” Gondoline reminded him as a particularly persistent tawny owl hovered around his head. “You really should get back to London.”

He looked at her as she stoked the campfire. “Do you really want to?”

She took her time answering, gazing around at the mountains first. “Not particularly. This is just fascinating. But you have responsibilities. You can’t just up and leave like this.”

“Pah!” He was unconvinced.

“At least _read_ the messages,” Gondoline implored. “They might be important.”

He had his doubts, but he rewarded the tawny owl’s persistence by removing the parchment from its leg. “Lord Withers is attempting to establish a new sport, played on winged horses,” he read aloud. “Important, Gondoline? I don’t think so.”

She intercepted another owl and extracted the message it carried. “This one is, Minister. Look – a manticore has escaped from a private collection and is threatening Upper Flagley.”

He waved a hand. “Local law enforcement can deal with that.”

“But it’s not really law enforcement, is it, Minister? It’s magical creatures. I would have thought that was right up your alley.”

He paused for a moment, considering her point. “Yes, I suppose, Maybe we should be getting back.” And without any further ado, or even extinguishing their campfire, he turned his rucksack into a Portkey and he and Gondoline were hurtling back towards London.

****

The Ministry was in uproar when they walked through the Atrium.  The chandelier was askew, there was no one at the welcome desk and the fountain, so recently commissioned by Eldritch, was a partially finished mess of gold, water pipes and bits of wood and metal sticking out randomly. The waiting area, normally so quiet and placid, was a hive of chaos as people tried to get through to the Ministry proper, only to be blocked by whatever charm it was that stopped unregistered beings entering. Barnabas and Gondoline picked their way through the crowds and through the door, wiping their brows as they emerged in the offices of the Ministry.

Their relief was short-lived, however. If anything, the inside was even worse than the outside. Owls flew everywhere, screeching with fright, their droppings visible on every surface. Parchment and quills lay all over the floor, furniture was upturned and, for some reason, emitting pale pink smoke, and the staff looked stressed, haggard. One brave soul was attempting to lead a Common Welsh Green dragon past the lifts, and there seemed to be intermittent explosions in the far corner. A slow chorus of _Odo the Hero_ could be heard from somewhere in the distance.

“What happened?” Gondoline breathed, but before Barnabas could answer he had been spotted and was being swamped by witches and wizards from all sides, waving bits of parchment in his face.

“Minister! The International Confederation of Wizards is due any moment and we don’t have anything ready!”

“Minister! The goblins are planning a revolt!”

“The Ketteridge family is seeking reparations for what Elladora’s death. What should we do?”

“The International Gobstones Convention was supposed to start two days ago but no one can find the Gobstones!”

“The Statute has been breached sixty-four times today already!”

Barnabas let out a roar that surprised everyone so much they shut up. He supressed a smile. He’d always been good at projecting his voice, perhaps one reason he’d been so interested in the stage. When it was quiet he took a long, deliberate look at them all.

“Seriously? You can’t deal with _any_ of these things yourselves?”

Gondoline let out a snigger, but quickly turned it into a cough.

“Let me get to my office,” Barnabas said, and the crowds parted before him like the Red Sea. “If I still have an office?”

A small, mousy-haired man appeared at his left shoulder. “Of course you do, Minister, right this way.”

“You heard the man,” Barnabas said to the throng. “I’m going to my office. Now listen, you lot. You all have brains in your heads and wands in your hands. Surely you can figure some of this out on your own?”

A few yards away, Gondoline was issuing orders left right and centre. He heard something about conjuring Gobstones and involving the Department for Magical Law Enforcement for the Statute breaches, and smiled to himself. He would need more staff like her.

The mousy-haired man had parted the ways to the Ministerial office, and he thanked him and went inside. Finally, some peace and quiet. He sat there, doing nothing, ignoring everyone outside, for a few minutes, and then Gondoline appeared.

“What would you like me to do, Minister?” she asked.

He grinned at her. “Hire more people like yourself who actually know how to get things done. Oh, and have a chat with Albert Boot,” he said, naming the head of the only Ministry Department that operated with any efficiency. “Ask him if he wants a promotion.”

She started, realisation dawning across her face. “There’s only one position higher than the Head of Magical Law Enforcement,” she said slowly. “And that’s Minister.”

Barnabas smiled slyly and nodded. “Exactly.”

 


End file.
